“I just…I just don’t understand.” Her admission was soft, a stark contrast from the earlier barbed assault, and I almost didn’t hear it. “I’ve given you so much over the years.”
I glanced about the room, not understanding the dramatic shift between us. “I know.”
She took a deep breath, looking at her reflection, her stare vague and unfocused. “I was nineteen when Papa died. In the course of one evening, I inherited his title, a smoldering estate, and the sudden care of my five younger sisters.” When her eyes rose to meet mine, they were watery with bright tears. “I’ve made sure you were clothed and fed. Educated. That you felt loved and cared for. I wanted—always—only the best for you. I’ve made this home as comfortable as I could… Why are you so hell-bent on leaving it? On leaving me?”
I hazarded another step closer to her. “Camille, it’s not you I want to leave… It’s not even Highmoor.”
Her sigh quavered. She looked on the verge of sobbing. “Go on and do it. Everyone else has. It was a delusion to think you’d be different.”
In an instant, I was at her feet, throwing my arms around her legs. The expression on her face had wounded me. I’d never seen Camille so vulnerable. So alone. “The others didn’t leave you either. They just…they have their own lives to start.”
“I always thought our lives were meant to be here, the Thaumas sisters, sisters of the Salt.” She swallowed. “They’ve all gone so far away…”
“I won’t,” I hastily promised. I pushed back every notion of my grand adventure. Pushed and stamped and trampled it into the dust beneath my feet. Anything to remove that dreadful look from my sister’s face. “I…I’ll write to Lady Laurent tonight. It will go out with the post first thing in the morning. I’ll make whatever excuse you want me to. I’ll stay, Camille, I will.”
There was a long moment of silence. I couldn’t see her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but hoped, hoped, hoped that somehow I’d made the situation better. I hoped my sacrifice had reassured her, had stopped her tears. It was terrifying to watch my sister—any of my sisters—cry.
“Thank you, Verity,” she said, running her fingers over my hair, tickling the back of my neck like she used to. I closed my eyes and tried to sink myself into that act of forgiveness.
I didn’t know how long we stayed that way, each trying to comfort the other from an impossibly uncomfortable position, neither of us seeing the other’s face, just trying to make our earnestness felt. Finally, Camille broke away and picked up a small cloth from the vanity.
I straightened, sitting on the back of my legs, and watched her remove the stain from her lips, slipping back into her duchess mode, always self-possessed, never inefficient.
“Now that that’s settled, you should be off to bed. You’ll want to write that letter tonight and we could all use a good sleep. Hmm?” She tweaked my nose, but the motion felt off, a shell of affection.
“Of course,” I said, fumbling to my feet. She’d won this battle and was already eager to move to the next task on her list. All of us were little ever more than an empty box in need of a check. Already I regretted my impulsive oath. “I could have Hanna bring you up a cup of tea, if you want. It always helps me sleep well.”
Her lips settled into an unreadable line. “You can take one of my candles if you want,” she volunteered, ignoring my offer and gesturing to the tapers flanking either side of the vanity. Even she was using Annaleigh’s stinky gifts.
“That’s all right,” I said, and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. “I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”
* * *
I waited until I was on the back staircase, heading for the second floor, before I broke apart, giant gasping gulps of breath bringing me to my knees. I flushed hot, my cheeks scalding even as my fingers quaked with cold trembles.
“It’s only for a little while,” I cried, making promises to myself that were beyond my powers to keep. “She can’t expect you to stay here forever. She can’t.”
I shuddered, wanting to let loose a torrent of tears but I was wrung out, a sail without wind, a fish on dry dock, screaming to breathe in its airy surroundings. I stifled back floundering sobs. They wracked through me, curling my spine inward as I drew my knees to my chest, trying to hold myself together however I could.
“Look at that,” someone whispered on the landing a floor above me. Their voice carried down the stairwell, echoing and repeating over itself.
“Who’s there?” I called out. My fingers clawed at my sides, panic spiking through me like an ice pick.
Someone had overheard my distress. Someone had witnessed my breakdown, and rather than come to my aide, come to comfort, they’d watched, cruelly judging me, mocking my angst.
“So many tears.”
Who was that?
Who were they speaking to?
I leaned out over the railing, straining to find the figures in the darkness above me. Oh, why hadn’t I taken Camille’s light?
“So much sorrow,” murmured the companion.
Uncurling myself, I sped up the stairs as silently as I could, intent on surprising the voices. Was it a pair of idle maids? Camille and William traipsing after me to make sure I’d really gone to bed? Who?
But the landing was as empty as it had been when I first passed it. I peered down the third-floor corridor, certain the voices had fled when they heard my approach, but it, too, was still and dark.
Then…a flash of red.
A ways away, near the other end of the hall. There one moment, then gone the next, slipping around the corner.
“Lenore?” I asked incredulously.
It looked just like her hair, worn loose and long, a sparkling curtain of russet against the low glow of the gaslights. The children’s rooms were on this floor, and the lamps were kept burning through the night to stave off bad dreams.
I followed after her, confusion swirling within me. “Lenore?”
Had she come home? For my birthday?
We’d wanted her there, of course. I would have sent her an invitation myself, but I’d not known where to address it. The last time she’d contacted any of us had been months ago, penning a short note to Camille.
“I’m fine,” she’d promised at the end of the missive. “Everything is fine.”
She’d tucked a small flower into the envelope, pressing its strange red petals between a bit of wax paper to preserve its beauty.
And now she was here.
I hurried after her. It had been years since she’d left Salann. Years since I’d seen her face.
“Lenore,” I tried again. “Wait for me.”
Why wouldn’t she turn and greet me?
“Tears,” she whispered, and her voice carried strangely down the hall. For a moment, I could have sworn it came from behind me, familiar lips pressed directly to my ear.
“Sorrow,” her unseen companion agreed.
“Tears.”
“Sorrow.”
They repeated the words over and over, their whispers rising to hisses, like steam released from a kettle too hot and ricocheting through the corridor to form a horrible melee of noise so loud I was surprised the children could sleep through it.